My Month of (no) Rest and Relaxation (absolutely none at all)

The first thing they ask you, when you tell someone

you haven’t slept in a month is “what do you do at night?”

Do I spend too much time on my phone? The internet? Netflix?

What could I possibly be doing?

To which I take great pleasure in replying, no I don’t have social media on my phone.

No, I am in bed with my eyes closed full of hope by 11 pm every night. 

Do you drink chamomile tea?

To which I take great pleasure in replying, I’ll kill you.

The answer to the first question is, you really get to know yourself better,

you talk to all the parts of yourself who think something is on fire.

And you find they make great company, for a time.

The one who keeps me awake at first has all the talent of a writer

and none of the pen to paper commitment.

She imagines what love and care would feel like, what home could look like,

and she gets really creative with it.

Soon you realize she’s making things up to keep you awake,

you stop listening. You watch the sun come up a few mornings in a row.

There are other parts, more hurt, less optimistic, good sense of humor.

You talk at length about what happened to make you like this,

What happened for you to believe something must be on fire. 

You become fast friends with a little girl who just wants comfort, care, consistency.

And you truly believe that you can give her everything she needs,

everything she never had,

And then there are a few days when she lets you close your eyes.

But here's the thing about 3 weeks of no sleep,

you start to resent whoever keeps you awake.

 The sirens, the doorbell, the little girl.

And she is full of vengeance when you do.

Hell hath no fury like a little girl scorned.

All the getting to know you have done will start to unravel one day.

You will get out of bed feeling like you got hit by a truck,

and just like that it’s been a month,

And you don’t remember what a relaxed jaw feels like,

You miss the writer, you miss rest, you miss relaxation 

You want a way out, you spend an entire day reveling in self pity,

telling whoever will listen about how tired you are.

You will turn to the sweet starchy comfort of NyQuil sliding down your throat,

You will book a doctor's appointment because you feel certain you can’t do this alone.

You will find yourself awake in bed once again.

You will apologise to the little girl

For everything that has happened 

for the two of you to believe 

Something is always on fire.

Image from Amy Cutler, Gallery 1.